


A Wintry Glimmer

by sageness



Category: DCU, Teen Titans
Genre: Canon - Comics, M/M, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-01
Updated: 2005-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen Titans, Robin, Nightwing, post-War Games, Identity Crisis, and Titans of Tomorrow.</p><p>Tim spectacularly fails to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wintry Glimmer

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Jingle Bells, Batman Smells 2004 Challenge](http://www.lovesetfire.com/jbbs/), and beta'd by MaraG, Fromward, Wanderlustlover, and SamJohnsson. Thanks to you all!

"Last one in's a rotten—" Splash! A moment later came the sound of Bart breaking the surface. "Hurry up, guys. It's perfect."

Robin toed the red and yellow pile of Bart's discarded uniform and shot an inquiring look at Kon, who was pulling his shirt over his head. "Trunks?"

"Huh?" Bart and Kon answered at once. Bart was floating on his back now, naked as the day he was born.

"The girls are upstairs," Kon said, "and Vic and Gar are in for the night."

"You're sure?" Tim asked.

"Dude, I can _see_ them. Not that I really _want_ to or anything...although Starfire—" Kon broke off with a leering grin. Tim smirked back and let his cape fall to the concrete, then set about disarming and removing the layers of his uniform as Kon kicked off his boots, stripped, and stepped up into the air.

A moment later, Kon was floating high under the vaulted ceiling, eyeing the eighteen inches of roiling water sloshing at the bottom of the pool. The rest was contained in the gigantic, rotating waterspout Bart had spun in the center of the room. It was…something else. They both watched in silence for several moments before Tim realized Bart must be completely absorbed in his task to have ignored them for so long.

"Hey, hotshot!" Kon called down to the pink blur in the middle. "Wanna put the water back so we can swim?"

"Oh, whoops!" Bart ran up the side of the column of water, slowed its spin, and allowed it to refill the pool without exploding all over them. "Sorry."

"No, dude, that's cool! I've never done that with a pool before." Kon floated down, circling the diminishing tower of water. He was strikingly naked against the blue. They both were.

"It's way easier to control! Plus," he added as he neutralized the large eddy in the pool, "this way you don't piss off any whales. Rob!" Bart shouted, his voice echoing off the tile. "Why aren't you naked yet?!"

There was no reason to answer. The rhythm of undressing was already kicked into overdrive, what with Kon using his TK, at a distance, to peel off each layer as soon as it was accessible. It wasn't creepy anymore, especially since six months fighting 30th century supervillains had taught Kon a whole new level of control. Now the TK was just one more among dozens of turn-ons. And maybe he did have a huge kink for Kon's aura. Maybe he was okay with that, even if it still bugged the hell out of him that he couldn't manage to hide his reaction to its touch.

He looked up at Kon, noticeably jolted by the rich sweep of invisible _something_ yanking down his cup and tickling his balls. Kon was studiously watching Bart walk on water…or at least pretending to, until he glanced back at Tim and winked.

Tim barely repressed an involuntary, answering shiver. Kon was under his skin, so much that he really, really didn't want to think about it. And really couldn't help it, either.

Naked at last, Tim pulled the comm out of his ear, stepped to the ledge, and dove in. When he surfaced, he found the entire block of water and air he occupied being pulled across the pool, a bow wave of displaced water rolling out to either side. He couldn't move, and the disorientation almost made him queasy enough to hurl, but he resolved to work out the physics of telekinetic inertia upon swimming pool and stomach contents later, as he found himself pressed against Kon's chest.

"Impatient much?" Tim said, shoving his hair out of his eyes. Waves splashing his back gave him a split second warning of Bart behind him.

He felt Bart's kiss land between his shoulder blades just as Kon's mouth closed over his own.

 

* * *

 

Patrol in Blüdhaven was hell. Most of the rival gangs still battling for turf in the post-Blockbuster void wanted to kill him. The flood of criminals who'd come to the 'Haven rather than live in Gotham under Black Mask _all_ wanted to kill him. Half the cops in the city, dirty or not, wanted to take him down just for being a cape (or maybe just for reminding them of Nightwing). And practically everyone who found themselves on the business end of Batgirl's fists or feet wanted to kill them both on principle. It was a nightmare. It was fantastic

Well, not precisely fantastic, but also not the same type of nightmare No Man's Land had been. Every moment of NML had been a battle against cold, starvation, disease, and being stabbed for a can of peaches—and that was before the turf wars even entered the picture. NML had been a war zone. Compared to that...Blüdhaven wasn't a cakewalk—there _were_ new challenges every night, but if Shrike were his toughest enemy, then this place might as well be Disneyland

Besides which, he was always free to leave. He could walk away at any moment.

If he had anywhere to go.

 

* * *

 

"Are you warm enough?" Kon had packed parkas for them both, locked away his pocket computer, and refused to reveal whom he'd bribed (or with what) to get them on a Bart-free non-stop jet to Japan. All he knew was it was apparently a Titans-approved excursion. He wasn't letting himself wonder if it were JLA-approved as well.

"If we're going to see Hiro, I'll need my computer back." Tim didn't care that he was being peevish. Kon did not keep secrets from him. He just didn't.

Kon stood behind him and bent his head to breathe against his ear. The heat of his chest felt nice against his shoulder blades. "We're not here to see Hiro."

"Kon—"

Tim turned on his heel, and Kon's hands drew up his back, holding him gently in place. He hadn't brought his TK up yet, but the look in his eyes said he would if it were needed.

Kon smiled down at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Will you stop with the conspiracy theory already? I have it under control."

"What are we doing here? We're nowhere near civilization."

"Surprise."

"I hate surprises."

"I know. Come on." Kon lifted them into the air, away from the small town airport that now harbored a grossly out-of-place, gun-metal gray Lexwing (oh, the irony) Rent-a-Jet. It was cold, and it grew colder still as Kon flew them higher up through the pines, into the mountains.

Close to an hour later, Tim was woozy with the altitude and agitated with curiosity. Also he was annoyed at losing his balance on landing. And at losing the warmth of Kon's body heat. But then they were being ushered into a dark wooden lodge, shown to a cozy, though well-appointed room and it all began to look familiar. Tim remembered seeing this in a movie, he thought. Maybe something by John Woo. Or even one of the midnight movies they'd gone to in Chinatown during Kung Fu Mania last summer.

Tim was shivering and still feeling slow on the uptake. It felt so odd to have his feet under him again. Then Kon was stripping down and the attendant was pouring tea. And there were thick robes. And the tea helped a lot—much more than the sound of Kon's laughter at his disorientation, even though the sound of his laughter itself was one of his favorite things in the world. Leave it to Kon. One minute, he's supposed to have a regular weekend at the Tower. The next, he's freezing his ass off in Japan. On the other hand, Kon's mouth felt really good on his skin as the clothes fell off his body. And his hand felt hot and firm on his arm as he tugged him toward the far door.

"Surprise," Kon said softly, and guided him across the steaming boardwalk to the edge of the hot springs.

"How—" Tim began, but Kon silenced him with a small kiss and a wide grin. Their robes fell and Kon's hands were firm on his hips as he floated them down the steps and into the water.

Another kiss and Kon batted his eyelashes. "I have my ways."

Tim snickered. "You realize I'll find out."

"You could," Kon answered against his mouth, sluicing hot water up over Tim's shoulders with his aura. "Or you could see how many times we can come between now and Sunday."

It didn't take long to guess at how many people were involved in creating this mini-vacation. He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd felt this good, which was more than a little terrifying when he began to consider it. On the other hand, the last time he'd felt really _happy_ was the night he went back on the job as Robin, just as the riots were starting, kicking ass all over Gotham, being everywhere but where he didn't know he was needed most. Stephanie would've—no.

Kon was pulling back, concern overriding desire. "Hey, man, if it's too soon, I tot—"

Tim stopped the rest of the words with his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Six muggings, three burglaries (two accompanied by Batgirl), an explosion in a meth lab located precariously close to an illegal chop shop, and one attempted abduction of a prostitute. Busy night and it was only three. And now, another...something. He heard a muffled scream and the sounds of a struggle from the alley two buildings over, as he launched, riding the decel cable down-down-down—to find a man in dark civvies zip-stripping the battered offender and returning a dazed-looking couple their wallets.

Dick. Doing a very dangerous, unutterably stupid thing. After calling in the anonymous tip, Robin mouthed the words "My place, now," and launched himself out of the alley.

Fifteen minutes later, he found Dick waiting in the living room of his loft, poring over the bookshelves and DVD stacks. Was that basil and garlic? Something smelled really good.

"Hey," Dick said, turning toward him, "so you're done?"

"Cass has it covered. And you realize you're insane, right?" Tim said, opening the hidden closet to stow his uniform and equipment. "Do you have any idea how many _hundreds_ of people in this city want you dead?"

"Nice to see you, too, kid." Dick was in the doorway, watching. Or maybe doing a spot check of the armory—it was hard to tell; but he seemed relaxed, more or less. Friendly. Still favoring the wounded leg, but it was only obvious if you were looking for it. Regardless, he shouldn't be here.

Tim hung the tunic and skinned out of the t-shirt, dropping it in the corner hamper. The weight of Dick's gaze fell heavy on his shoulders, evaluating him, and really, hugely pissing him off. As if he needed another pair of eyes on him, silently hoarding their judgment. He was out of his jock and wrapping a towel around his waist when he finally glared up at Dick and said, "So, did Bruce send you?"

Dick froze, which he'd expected, but it was the stricken look that made him want to rip his own tongue out. "I'm going to pretend you didn't actually say that," Dick said. "How about you get out of this closet, clean up, and start acting like a normal human being? Then we'll talk." He glared at Tim for a moment longer, and then turned back toward the living room.

"Sorry." It came out as a belated mumble, and Dick gave no indication that he'd heard. Damn it. This was so not what he needed.

* * *

 

"Wanna spar?" Cassie stood in his doorway. The look on her face was much colder than usual. She'd been pissed at him for three weeks now, ever since she realized she'd been left out of the conspiracy to send him to Japan with Kon, but so far she hadn't dared a confrontation.

He knew that, in general, she'd been going out of her way to be friendlier with everyone lately. They'd all been shaken by their accidental journey to the time-stream where they were captured by their sociopathic future selves. No way in hell was Tim going to let himself become a murderer…but Cassie had a god of war taking personal interest in her life and no one had really stepped in to fill Donna's boots as mentor.

Still, he probably owed her this. "Sure," Tim said, and reached for his cape.

Downstairs in the practice room, they bowed to each other and separated. She held her lasso in her right hand; he held a practice staff in his left. "No flight or strength," he stated for form's sake, as if this were just another training bout.

She shrugged. "Whatever you want."

He nodded once and waited. For all of Artemis' training, she still telegraphed her shots. Of course, lately he'd been working with Batgirl every night. He was learning things from Cassandra that this Cassie had never been exposed to.

He didn't have to wait long; anger was radiating from her body. She lunged, bunching the golden rope into a flail and snagging the staff from his grip. Her eyes shone like points of blue fire.

As she reeled the captured staff toward her, he caught the end of it in his palm and shoved forward, slamming the opposite end hard into her ribs. She grunted and fell back, seeking room to maneuver.

The rope was back in her hands now, as the staff was in his, and the look in her eyes was new—pain mixed with rage. "Cassie—" he said, instincts urging him to appease, even as her eyes went suddenly dark.

The loop fell out of the lasso. It was a line jumping forward at him, crackling with lightning.

"Oh shit," she snapped, jumping into the air and heaving it back, even as Tim parried with the staff. There was a crack of thunder, a flash of light, and both weapons lay across the room. The stench of brimstone wafted around them; a new scorch mark scored the wall behind him all the way up to the ceiling.

From across the mat, Cassie looked from him to the trajectory of the thunderbolt and back again. "Oh my god, Tim." She was starting to shake a little as belated panic set in.

"It's okay," he answered, running a mental inventory to make sure it was.

"I'm so sorry." She was crossing to him, pulling him into a hug, petting his arms and shoulders. She was still shaking and tears were beginning to overflow. "I swear, I would never… I am so sorry."

He didn't move. He knew she knew how much it bothered him…and that was probably the lesser part of why she was doing it. The larger reason was how much she had just scared the crap out of herself. Him, too. "It's okay," he said again.

"I didn't mean it, I swear." She was crying openly now, but at least she'd released her grip on his arms. Weeks of tension between them, and the dam had finally given out.

"I know, Cassie. Really."

She was biting her lip and scrubbing her cheeks dry with the heel of her hand. After a little bit, she whispered, "It just hurts so much."

He nodded, pulling the cape back around his body. After a long moment, he said, "I never meant for it to be like this."

She shut her eyes and took a long breath. When she opened them again, she had her control back. "It's so _stupid_, I know," she said, her voice tight, "but I love him." She swallowed, staring at him hard. "Listen, I know a lot of stuff has happened to you and I swear I'm not trying to be hurtful, Tim, but nobody else is going to say this, no matter what they really think." Again her eyes flashed, and she spoke in almost a growl, "It's just that I can't stand the way you're _using them_!"

He stilled. She had no idea, and there was no reason why she should. They'd never had an easy friendship; they were too busy vying for Kon's time and attention.

"Tim, why do you have to have them _both_?" Her tears were gone. She was back in her head now, calmer. "That's fine if playing with Bart makes you feel better—I don't care. But it's not right for you to do this to Kon!"

It was a relief that she couldn't see his eyes behind the lenses, see how far she'd pushed him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. Then he stood still, watching, waiting for her to decide whether she was going to punch him. She was fuming and it wasn't making anything easier that he couldn't, wouldn't say anything else. The rest was between her and Kon. He gave her a small, grim nod as she sat down, shoulders slumped, finally acknowledging the impasse between them; then he put away the staff and left the room.

* * *

 

By the time Tim got out of the shower, put on sweats, and padded out into the living room, Dick had laid a spread of pizza and Zesti on the coffee table and was standing at the entertainment center, frowning down at the four different remotes in his hands.

"You got pizza this late?"

"Alfred made it," Dick answered, still pressing buttons.

Tim frowned. "And you strapped it to the back of the bike?"

Dick looked up and almost laughed. "Front seat of the car, actually. Believe it or not, I _do_ realize that the motorcycle draws too much attention."

"You really shouldn't be here."

Dick shrugged. "If you won't come to Gotham..."

Tim scowled, but didn't say anything.

"Okay, look—let's start over." Dick tossed all the remotes onto the sofa and pushed into Tim's space. "Hi," he said, and pulled Tim into a hard hug. "It's good to see you, again. I missed you."

"Yeah?" Tim answered, blinking. He hadn't been hugged in...well, not since Kon and Bart last weekend, but that was different. They didn't understand this part of his life. _Dick's_ part of his life. But...he stilled his face. Perhaps he relied on the mask too much.

"Hungry?" Dick asked, and ruffled Tim's damp hair before turning to claim a place on the couch.

Tim gathered the scattered remote controls and started the movie Dick had chosen. Summer movie mind-candy, but the martial arts didn't suck...too much.

He missed Alfred's pizza. Nobody else in the world would top a pizza with roast chicken, zucchini, spinach, carrots, and artichoke hearts, all slathered in pesto and mozzarella, but it worked. It definitely wasn't traditional Titans double pepperoni, double cheese. It also wasn't home, but nothing was anymore.

It was Alfred, except without the politely sardonic commentary about his living situation or the intermittent suggestions that he go back to Gotham. It was the Alfred who took care of him for all of that first year, back when things were both so much worse and so much better. Maybe it was more like home than he wanted to admit.

He had to admit that eating made a difference, and maybe he wasn't doing so hot at taking care of himself on his own. Remembering to feed himself was hard when he wasn't at the Tower. It was easier when he had Kon or Bart thrusting food at him all weekend between taking down mad scientists and Olympic bouts of sex. If he were in school, he would have a lunch hour. But he couldn't deal with—

School was all memories of Bernard and Darla and sitting outside with brownbag sandwiches and whatever else Dana had packed him. He couldn't...no. The fact was that Darla had died _right there_, right where they ate lunch almost every single day. And sure, the logical part of his brain knew that nothing would've saved her. Sucking chest wounds require instant transport to a qualified trauma ward. It couldn't be his fault that she'd died. That his best wasn't good enough. He knew this.

And he knew, rationally, that Steph had set it in motion, and it absolutely wasn't her fault that she didn't have all the facts; but she would never have set it in motion if—if he'd done a million things differently, not least of which was allowing her to blow him off. He should've made her _talk_ to him. So many things were left unsaid…. But most of all, none of it would've happened if he hadn't broken his oath. Which he never would've done if his dad hadn't found out about all the lies underlying Robin...and that—

The truth was, none of this would've happened if he hadn't been so stupidly careless. Football was a stupid lie. He didn't have the size for it by any means. He should've just said something about martial arts. His dad had never even noticed that he'd taken karate as a child. He could've claimed—but it was all a moot point now. No more school. No more—no.

Being Robin meant he was on the frontlines. Fine, so be it. But he wasn't going to watch any more kids die because of his so-called lifestyle choice. Or lose any more friendships because the girl who happened to die in his arms was the girl his only friend at school was crazy about. He wasn't so dumb that he would hope for Bernard's forgiveness. The writing on the wall was clear; there was nothing left for him...not in Gotham, not anymore.

Dick's presence was warm, comfortable. When Tim returned from clearing the dishes, Dick moved closer, skating a hand up his back as he sat. Almost a hug. Something. Whatever, it made it easier to let himself lean back into the crook of his arm and watch the flick.

It was weird, Dick being here. Last time they'd hung out like this, it was Dick's apartment—the one that got blown up along with all his old photos and stuff from his parents and backup Nightwing gear. All of it was gone now. And now Tim was the one living in the 'Haven, living off his first, original trust fund from his mother's will, and ignoring intermittent emails and phone messages from Dana because he just couldn't deal. Not since the week after the funeral, when she tried—and she did, it was an honest attempt—to reach out for some common ground between them; but she couldn't get past the blame. He could still see the look in her eyes as she looked at him. In her eyes, he _had_ killed his dad, Stephanie, Darla, everyone—even if she lacked _any_ knowledge of the details. It was as if he'd done it with his own hands, merely by being who he was. Because his life put everyone at risk.

When he'd packed up his duffle and his computer, she was...the apologies were real, they were heartfelt, but they both knew the gulf of grief between them was impassible. He had to go. He had to get out at least as much as she needed him gone.

He hadn't seen Bruce since...in ages, except for the one time he'd spotted him on a rooftop near the Zee Mores, watching him. Tim had stood and watched the cape flutter. He'd never had the chance to say, "Go away."

Alfred was the one who flew him to San Francisco now. Every Friday.

For his weekly sanity check.

* * *

 

God, yes!

"You like that?"

"Oh fuck, oh fuck!" He was mouthing the words, but no sound was coming out, and then he was coming and the specter of Bart's face was gone behind a haze of sparkling white, and his ass was...god, Bart was still pumping, still thrumming in his ass, and he wasn't going to survive this. "Bart," he panted, "Come on. Come." He reached up and tugged Bart down by the hair, pulling him into a kiss. Bart's eyes were a blaze of yellow; he was close, closer as Tim chanted under him. "Come on, Bart, come for me." Bart jolted with a keening wail and collapsed on him, waiting only a moment before gingerly slipping out and heading to the bathroom.

When he returned, Tim mock-glared at him from where he lay sprawled on the bed, then grinned. "And Kon says _I'm_ bad about not cuddling."

Bart laughed and flopped down next to him. "Here I am, cuddle away."

Tim grinned and rolled toward him, rubbing a hand down Bart's belly to nestle between his legs.

"Hey, _ow_—gentle, okay?"

Tim frowned. "That actually hurt?"

"A little."

"But, speed healing should—"

"Five times in a night? Plus teeth?" Bart giggled, buzzing a finger over Tim's nipples. "I'll be good as new in another three and a half minutes."

Tim snorted and squeezed his own dick, soft though it was, just because it felt good.

"How are you even going to sit down tomorrow?"

Tim shrugged. "Same as always."

Bart drummed his feet on the mattress, shaking the whole bed, until he noticed Tim's quirked eyebrow. He bit his lip and drew his fingers up Tim's chest again before he finally spoke. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you really don't want to, but then I guess you already know that."

"What?"

Bart spoke in a small but determined voice, "Am I as good at this as Kon?"

With a snicker, Tim pushed his leg over Bart's and slid down until his balls were pressed tight against Bart's thigh. Sensation shot through him and he stared down at Bart, letting him see how good it felt. "You're completely different."

Bart grinned at him, letting the motion of his thigh speed up. "Because I vibrate?"

"Mm-hmm. It makes touching you...really hot." Tim ducked his head to tongue a nipple and rub his renewed erection against Bart's thigh.

"_Again_?? You have to be kidding!"

"Turn over," Tim said in a low voice. He didn't have to ask twice. Bart spun in his hands, and Tim began licking his way down.

* * *

 

"Oh, like _hell_!" Dick called out at the screen, where the hero had just used a normal yellow nylon rope to dive from the top span of a suspension bridge to the roof of a moving rental truck below. "He would be _so_ dead. And dismembered."

"But then he wouldn't get the girl," Tim answered.

"Heaven forbid," Dick replied, as the movie made an awkward jump-cut to the girl and the hero falling through a door, oblivious to the world in their frantic, adrenaline-induced kissing.

Tim was about to laugh at the choppy editing job, but Dick's thumb rubbing up the back of his neck caught his voice in his throat.

"So, I've been hearing things."

"Uh..." Tim leaned forward and drained the rest of his Zesti. "What things?"

That smug little raised eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure you know what I'm talking about."

The hand was back on his neck. With a frown, Tim moved a few inches away. "Then I'm pretty sure that whatever you think you know is none of your business." He sat back, eyes focused on the screen. Mostly. Except for what he could see of Dick's face out of the corner of his eye.

And Dick smiled. Dick was _smiling_ at him, almost laughing as he said, "Listen, I have a right to be concerned for you."

"Uh-huh."

"You're growing up," he paused and winked at him. "Finally."

"It's a little late for the birds and bees talk, Dick—not that it was ever yours to give." The girl was naked now and her vaguely malnourished body was taking up nearly the whole screen. The hero was all biceps and deltoids. Too bulky for his taste, really, although it was mostly the lack of grace that bothered him. Even Bruce, as large as he was, always moved with the precision of a dancer. It was something Kon was working to get better at; he wanted to be more than just a tank, especially since careful use of his TK could be a brilliant tactical advantage. Among other things.

Dick had finally turned back to the movie. He could deal with brooding Dick. It was even a relief.

* * *

 

"Good morn—aw jeez, _already_?" Kon's whine barely penetrated the haze of sensation that currently held Tim's brain captive, but he could feel the ambient temperature increase as Kon crossed the bedroom, looking down on them from just beyond his shoulder. Kon smelled fresh from the shower, but that was all that registered. Tim was writhing, fucking himself on Bart's hand, and Bart was three fingers deep within him, buzzing an insane rhythm on, then off, then on his prostate.

Bart let Tim's left testicle slip from his mouth and gave Kon a serious look. "We're healthy adolescent males, Kon. Why waste a perfectly good morning erection?" Tim cried out as Bart twisted his fingers. "Let him suck you?" Bart suggested, and dropped his mouth back to its work.

Tim came with the taste of Kon shooting down his throat, and Bart came a few moments later, deep in his ass, with a whole different quality of buzzing. Each time with Bart was always different, depending on who was in whom, which way, and how fast. One day he'd figure out all the variations. Maybe. Although, with as much as Bart read, they might well be infinite.

Kon, on the other hand, was always the same. It was never _only_ Kon's dick in him or his dick in Kon. Kon fucked with his entire aura, all of his will and desire and strength. Being with Kon went so far beyond the physical, the only words that came close were in the poetry section of his old lit book. The one he'd never returned when he left Gotham for good.

* * *

 

As the credits rolled, Tim noticed that he and Dick had nestled back into their original positions. Dawn wasn't that far off, but these days he was more or less nocturnal, so it didn't really matter.

"You want to crash here?" Tim asked, remembering that he was the host now.

"Sure." Dick yawned and stretched his shoulders, then sat up on the back of the couch to work on the stiffness in his injured leg.

"Uh, cool," Tim said, and got up to fetch bedding for the couch.

As soon as he was out of the room, Dick called out to him, "Look, Tim, I don't want to piss you off, but I _am_ worried about you, and I want you to feel like you can talk to me. I know it's been a hellish year, but you're..." Dick trailed off as Tim reappeared with a pillow and his extra blanket. "You have to realize that you don't have to do this alone."

Tim laid the bundle on the coffee table and fought back the urge to paste a carefully neutral expression on his face. Dick knew him better than that.

"You know I'm still in the loop with the Titans." Dick was punching his buttons on purpose now. Tim glared at him, and Dick shook his head. "Remember the part where I'm not _trying_ to piss you off?"

"And yet, you're succeeding."

"What, you think I blame you? In our line of work, it's all part of being on a team."

"Like you and Roy?" Tim's voice was harder than he intended. He took a sudden interest in the scrolling list of sound effects editors on the TV screen.

"Sometimes," Dick replied. "You know that."

"What about back when you guys were Titans?" It was none of his business. He had no right or reason to ask and that was his _point_...but—

"Sure. Over the years, Roy, Wally, Kory of course, Donna, Garth, Vic..."

Tim groaned, shaking his head. Dick was so clueless sometimes. "Thanks, excuse me while I scrub _that_ image out of my brain." Dick laughed and tugged him back down to the couch, managing to ruffle his hair again before he could bat his hand away. "All right, fine, already. What have they told you?"

"Why don't you just tell me? It's not like I haven't been there."

He shrugged, uncomfortably aware of the music soaring over the tail end of the credits. "It's Kon," he mumbled, "and Bart."

Dick grinned widely at Tim's flush. "Very cool. Speedsters are...I was going to say something about their hands, but it's everything. They're incredible."

Tim blushed again and tried to will his growing erection away. Sweats didn't hide _anything_.

"That good, huh?"

"It's all right."

"You know, talking to you about sex is like pulling teeth. What aren't you saying?"

"Why are we even having this conversation?"

"Because if you're old enough to do it, then you're old enough to talk about it," Dick said with a grin. Then he turned serious. "And after everything you've been through, I really don't want you to get hurt."

"They're not going to hurt me."

"Are you in love with either of them, or is it just the sex?"

"Kon's my best friend. Bart's…a lot of fun. We're good together."

"Avoiding the question much?"

Tim shrugged again.

"So it's different with Kon than Bart?"

Tim glared, finally giving him a reluctant nod. "Yeah."

"How?" Dick asked, finishing his last set of work on his quads and dropping down to the cushion with a bounce.

"There's absolutely nothing I can do to make you let this go?" Dick shook his head and grinned. Tim groaned, and then began to strangle the throw pillow he'd been leaning against. When Dick finally stopped laughing at him, Tim said, "Fine…if you insist. Do you know anything about Kon's aura?"

"Not really." Dick raised an eyebrow, interested. "Tell me about it?"

Tim shrugged. "It's hard to describe. It's tangible, but invisible…and as soft as he wants it to be. Like..." Tim paused, flushing slightly, "when he touches me with it, it's kind of like being wrapped inside a living blanket. That sounds dumb, but—"

"Actually it sounds kind of nice."

"It's...it feels really good. And since I...." No. Not going there.

"What?"

"Never mind." Tim clamped down on his tongue, fighting for control. This wasn't—

"Talk, Timmy." Dick's arms were crossed over his chest and the Look was back. He was stuck.

"It's really good to see you again."

"You, too. I'm not going anywhere."

Tim frowned and reached for the throw pillow again. "You're going back to Gotham. I'm not."

Dick tapped his knee with a socked foot. "Since when are you defeated by a thirty minute drive?"

A long moment passed. He'd left because he had to. He couldn't stand it. Dick had had more time. Being in Blüdhaven was…all right, maybe he was completely full of shit. More than three dozen people were dead because Blockbuster hated Dick. And he'd come tonight, braved all of those ghosts tonight, not to mention the hordes of very living people just dying to kill him, all to see him. Dick missed him. And he was sorely missed.

Tim bit his lip and steeled himself to ask the question burning inside him. "You don't...I mean, does it bother you that I'm…that I've been with them?"

He saw the surprise register in Dick's shoulders before he answered, "Do you mind that I've been with Roy or the others?"

"No." Tim looked down and then met Dick's eyes.

"No?"

Tim shrugged and looked back to the blank TV. "Like you said, it's part of being on a team."

* * *

 

The ocean was blue and he wasn't entirely sure how much of it they'd crossed. The sun was setting into it...which only narrowed their location to approximately an eighth of the planet, since there was no way for Tim to judge Bart's speed while being held in his arms, shielding his exposed skin with his cape. His GPS receiver was in his belt, and the comm, of course, was in his ear, if there were an actual emergency...but this was only a game. A three-sided game.

Bart sat on a flat, sand-scoured rock and fingered another stone before skipping it across the bay. He had an enviable knack for it.

"Any guesses yet?" With a flick of the wrist Bart skipped another rock three-six-eleven-fourteen times, and then leaned back on his elbow. Tim shifted on his driftwood log, looking over his shoulder to watch the sky dim in the east. No stars yet. He couldn't tell their latitude from the sun alone, and if Bart had brought him south of the equator, then...there was no way to tell. All he was sure of were the islands he'd seen shrink into green dots over Bart's shoulder and the sheltered cove they were resting in now. And that next to the bustle of the city, all this quiet was a little eerie.

"Not yet," he said finally, ignoring Bart's cackle of glee. "We should build a fire."

"Nah, we'll be home in time for lunch."

"Lunch tomorrow or lunch today?"

"Tim, you know how Kon tells you not to worry so much? This is one of those times."

"You're quoting _Kon_ telling me not to worry?" Tim's brow furrowed. "Now I know something's wrong."

Bart winked at him and disappeared, reappearing a split second later with an enormous picnic basket in his arms. He set it down, grinning widely, opened the hasp, and unfurled an enormous checkered tablecloth on the soft sand of the beach. Kneeling beside the basket, Bart looked up at Tim and faltered. "I, uh, I thought you might like...I mean, would you like to have dinner with me?"

Now Bart was all awkward sincerity, the surreality of the situation oddly diminished by the bright yellow costume. Tim felt his mask heavy on his face, but he was pretty sure Bart would forget all about eating if he were to take it off, and someone had to make sure they got back to the Tower. Preferably tonight, so he could find out how Kon's talk with Cassie went.

"Uh, Tim?"

"Bart, is this a date?" He couldn't do anything about the disbelief in his voice.

"Do you want it to be?" He could see that Bart was aiming for bravado but had landed squarely in the confines of naked truth.

"Do you?"

"No fair being evasive," Bart shot back, cocking his head. "I asked first."

Tim frowned down at the blue and white plaid fabric and the way the white squares caught and held onto the twilight. "Bart—" _I can't. I can't give you anything right now._

"Just be honest," Bart said, rolling his eyes. "I can handle it."

_I want to. I do, but I can't_. Tim looked up from the specks of sand on the cloth. "What if I said I don't know?"

Bart snorted and shook his head. "I'd say you were trying to let me down easy."

"Bart, it's not…"

"Hey! It's okay, really. I just knew Kon was going to be busy and I'm really dying for you to do me and I thought, hey, the beach at sunset would be kind of romantic or something and—"

_Don't fall in love with me, Bart. Don't. You deserve more_. Tim nodded. "It is."

The sinking sun was bathing the sky in orange and red. The quiet water of the bay was streaked with gold. Gulls called to each other, but otherwise they were completely alone.

A minute or two passed as they gazed out at the water. Bart was back to skipping rocks, breaking up the silvery mirror of the bay. Tim watched a late flock of gulls return to their nesting grounds in the low cliff half a mile across the cove. When he looked up, Bart was gone. A few seconds later, a couple of sandwiches appeared and disappeared in a golden blur. A moment after that, an intense, ravenous-looking Bart was pressed against him. "You know what?" Bart said, "It really is okay. It just takes too long to explain. The important thing is that you're one of my best friends and I really like being with you, alone or…not." A cloud passed rapidly over Bart's eyes, so fast Tim might've imagined it. Now Tim was looking at Bart's broad smile and coyly tilted head. "You know, in relative time it's been weeks since you've fucked me."

Tim cracked a slow grin. Thank god for relative time. "That long, huh?"

"Tease."

"Not even."

"No?"

They'd become experts at shedding their uniforms quickly, or at least yanking vital bits of clothing and armor out of the way, all while kissing the breath out of each other and frantically groping for contact, for skin. Then Bart's ass was in Tim's bare hands, and Bart was stretching sideways, digging around in the picnic basket with an outstretched arm and daring Tim to make a comment about being prepared. Last time, they'd used the last of the lube in his utility belt.

Moments later, Bart was easing back onto him, pulling him into his body like he belonged there, and maybe he did and maybe he didn't. He wasn't—no. All he knew was Bart adjusted _fast_, and while his body was always going at a low-level hum, the feeling of it around his dick was good, so good, and unlike any other thing in the world.

And then Bart shifted, sitting back to lean against Tim's chest and let his weight pull him deeper onto Tim's cock. It was too...he couldn't wait. Tim had to thrust. He had to hold on tight and fuck the hell out of him. He didn't have any other choice.

Sometimes it was excellent to stop thinking so much.

* * *

 

"Why isn't it me?" Dick was sitting on the edge of Tim's bed, early morning sunrise painting a mauve stripe across his face.

"What?" Tim had snapped awake when he'd felt the mattress dip, but he was still pulling himself out of combat mode.

Dick stared at him, blue eyes hard in the dim light. "After everything we've been through together, Tim, and everything you're going through now…I just don't—is it the age difference?"

"I...what?" he stammered. "Wait, are you seriously asking me this?"

Dick nodded and Tim registered the scruff on his chin, the circles under his eyes. He looked as if he'd been tossing and turning on the couch ever since Tim had gone to bed.

"I never..." Tim shook his head, trying to jumpstart his brain, then stopped and shook his head again. "I didn't know I could."

"Tim."

"I'm not..." He sat up in his bed and looked squarely at Dick. "You see me as a brother."

"You're that important to me."

"That's...I mean, me too. But—"

"What? We're attracted to each other, right? We care about each other. And there are so few people out there who have any idea what kind of hell we go through _daily_, and I look at you and—"

Tim cut him off, his voice like ice. "The other day Kon asked what was wrong with me," he paused, scowling, "…because I can't seem to get enough. No matter what we do or how often we do it, I always want more. He made it sound like I was this bottomless pit they're trying and failing to fill."

Dick sat back, eyes reflecting back the hurt. "Ouch."

"It wasn't intended to sound like that, but the implications are the same."

"And so you think you want more than I can give you."

"Maybe," he said, pulling his legs in Indian-style. "Maybe you want more than I can give _you."_

He could _feel_ the slow crawl of Dick's gaze over his body. He was too old to pull the blankets over his head, though for a moment he really wanted to. "Or it could be that you're just scared of the same things I am."

"Meaning?" he asked, a little breathless.

"We've lost so much," Dick said, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "I can't lose you, Tim. I wouldn't—"

"You won't."

"You know you can't say that," Dick started, reaching out for Tim's arm, but Tim batted him away. "And you _know_ we're in the same boat here. Everything's gone. Everything but Bruce."

"No!" And all at once he was furious. "Everything but _Alfred_. We lost Bruce a long time ago—maybe even before I quit."

"That's not fair," Dick shot back.

"You weren't around to see it!" Tim's voice rose and then broke like glass. "He could've saved her, Dick. _I_ could've saved her. Don't tell me the Wayne billions couldn't have airlifted her out. He didn't even try."

"He was just too late, Tim. Just like with your dad."

"Don't." It was a growl and the threat in his eyes was not in any way diminished by the tears.

"Tim, you have to believe it wasn't malice." Dick's voice was desperate. Again he reached for Tim's shoulder, but Tim shook him off. He couldn't take it. Not right now.

"He didn't train her. I saw the logs. She didn't need push-ups; she needed strategy and criminal pathology and a meditation discipline. He made her believe she could get there, and then he didn't follow through on his end."

"Tim, that's—"

"It's the truth, and you know it!"

Dick looked at him helplessly. "I have to believe in him."

Tim blotted his eyes on his shirtsleeve. "I don't. Not anymore."

"He screws up sometimes," Dick murmured. "We all do."

"She deserved better."

"Yes." Dick nodded and tugged on his hand, pulling him in. "Yes, she did."

"I miss her so much," Tim whispered against his ear. "She used to be.... In Gotham, she was the only person who really knew me."

* * *

 

Most of the time when they got an emergency call, they would swoop in and save the day. Sometimes, though… They'd gotten back an hour ago and nearly everyone was already asleep from sheer emotional, if not physical exhaustion. Bart was downstairs, zoned out on the Playstation. Tim was in his room, online, trying to locate more information about the half dozen Russian freighters that had gone down in the Pacific. The last one, they'd been too late by half an hour. No survivors other than the handful of dazed and injured crewmen huddled together in a lifeboat against the cold, stormy sea. None of the sailors could tell them anything more than there had been an explosion and dozens were lost.

With Oracle gone, it would take ages to trace the chain of responsibility through all the dummy fronts, shadow holding companies, Russian mob tie-ins, numbered accounts, and so on, even with Cyborg's system sharing the workload; and then, tracking down the likely suspects might take them _weeks_. It was obscene. Oracle could've sent him everything he needed with a few keystrokes, back before—no, it was counterproductive to think like that. He would only renew his inner count of the death toll, and he would not think about it. Not the ever-increasing number of lives her sacrifice of the Clocktower had cost. All the intel lost forever. To save Batman, to force Batman to save her...when Bruce hadn't even tried—

No.

"Shit, Tim. Are you okay?"

Damn it. He hadn't even heard him come in. Kon was sitting on the bed with him now, pushing the laptop away and holding his face in his hands. He hated feeling helpless. He couldn't breathe, not with that gaze on him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair!

"Dude, what's not fair? What are you talking about?" Oh. Perfect. Now he was talking to himself out loud. But it was Kon, at least. That made it slightly less bad.

Tim put his arms around Kon's neck and kissed him hard, fast, and kissed him again. He pushed him back, climbed onto his lap, and kissed him a third time, licking into his mouth, deeper, harder, until Kon was moaning below him. Tim fought for a moment with Kon's jeans, shoved his own sweats down, and had them together in his hands, together hot and needful and getting hard fast. He scraped his teeth down the side of Kon's neck until they were both breathing in desperate gasps, thrusting and—

"I said wait! Cut it out, man!" Kon's hands were back on his shoulders, pushing him back, and then cupping his chin. "What the fuck are you doing, Tim? What's going on?"

"I'm trying to fuck you," Tim gritted out through clenched teeth. This wasn't happening. Kon should know better. Should know _him_ better. Of all people, he should know.

Kon backed off, scowling. "I...never mind."

"What?" Tim snapped, sitting back hard as all the blood rushed out of his dick.

"Look, _you're_ the creepy little genius here. When are you going to figure out that _this isn't helping!_"

"Kon, I—"

"No, dude, hear me out. First it was me, then it was him, now it's me _and_ him, and you still can't get enough. We can fuck you day and night, but we can't _fix_ it. We can't fill the hole in your heart, man." Kon's eyes fell to the floor, and then he looked up and said, "I wish I could. You know I do. But I don't know how to make it better."

No. Tim swallowed and shook his head. "You can't."

"So what the hell are we doing?"

"We..." Tim shook his head again. He was an idiot. He should call Alfred to take him back to the 'Haven. "Never mind."

But damn it, Kon was in his face again, preventing him from pulling away. "Uh-uh, no way. I told you I'd made my choice." Kon placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. "I won't let you hide."

And then the aura was all around him, guiding him back onto Kon's lap, but neither of them were hard anymore, and neither of them cared.

It felt like... the old days, sort of, when he was brand new at being Robin and every time Dick _looked_ at him was a thrill. Being in Kon's aura was like that, like he could feel Kon _glowing_ at him. Sometimes—not all the time, but sometimes—it was almost as good as that first desperate hug Dick had given him when he woke up from the Clench. The tears in Dick's eyes when he pulled away, the words that wouldn't come. Proof he wasn't dead.

Still, Kon's aura was a good place, even when they weren't fucking. Inside it, he could almost begin to relax.

But if he permitted that, then he might lose it completely.

"Here's my brilliant plan," Kon whispered against his temple. "We're going to lie down and go to sleep because we've had a day from hell and we deserve it. And you're _going_ to sleep, even if I have to knock you out, okay?"

Asshole. He raised an eyebrow in a less-than-half-hearted challenge, but Kon's resolve held. Tim made a face, and then moved the laptop to his desk, readjusted his sweatpants, and climbed under the covers in silence.

"Okay, good." Tim repressed a snort at Kon's obvious surprise.

But when the lights were out and Kon was curled around his back, it was different. Better. He was relaxing, whether he wanted to or not. "I'm sorry," Kon began in a whisper against his neck. "Everything sucks for you right now, and I'm really sorry, man." The kiss below his ear was only a brush of dry lips and it shouldn't have felt like anything, but it did. Tim turned in Kon's arms and kissed him once, just as soft, and then he lay listening to their hearts pound against each other in the warm stillness of his bed.

"Thanks," Tim whispered after a long time, and let the combined sound of their heartbeats lull him to sleep.

* * *

 

He was lying on the floor, covered in blood, lying in a pool of blood, and his father stood above him, ghostly white, completely bled out. "Look what you've done, Tim. Do you understand what you've done?" His dad's brows were knit with frustration, as if he were trying to convey some great existential truth.

"You awake?" The voice was soft, soft as the fingers raking through his hair, brushing the dream away. "Hey, it's time to wake up."

Tim groaned and rolled onto his side, straight into a warm, muscular, t-shirt-clad chest…that wasn't Kon's. Then he realized his knees had wrapped themselves around Dick's thigh. It was perfectly chaste, but still. "Oh shit."

"Good morning to you, too," Dick said, laughing. His hand was still in his hair, still petting him. "You okay?"

"Um, yeah." Except for how he wasn't.

Dick snorted and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You were yelling. Bad dream?"

"They happen."

"Your dad?"

Tim pulled out of Dick's grip and shrugged again.

"Spill it," Dick commanded.

Mid-afternoon sunlight was streaming in through windows on the other side of the loft. The sky was blue and he could see sunlight sparkling off the glass of high rises in the middle distance. The air felt just cool enough to forewarn of a hard winter. Tim stretched from head to toe, yawned, and then propped himself up against the headboard, knees drawn up under the blankets.

"It was like when I found him," he said, picking at the front of his pajamas, "except I was on the floor and he was standing over me. I was totally covered in his blood. He looked like a wax effigy from Madame Tussaud's or something. He kept telling me to look what I'd done."

"Jesus."

Tim swallowed. "Yeah."

"Come here." Dick pulled him into a hard, warm hug and rocked him for a minute. It made him feel stupid and self-conscious. He wasn't a kid anymore, after all, but it still felt good. Dick felt good.

"When do you need to head back?" Tim asked when he let go.

Dick stopped him with a hand on his shoulder as he was scooting toward the edge of the bed. "I don't."

"You don't?"

"If you want me to leave, I will, but there's no time I have to be back."

"Oh." Tim frowned. "I mean, good, I guess."

"Tim," Dick said, drawing a little closer, "It wasn't your fault. None of it was. It was all out of your control."

"I know," he whispered. "Really."

"You know Bruce is—"

"Don't. Don't even say his name, okay?"

"He's killing himself with guilt, Tim. You _know_ what he's like. He would give anything to make it better."

Tim shook his head, folding in on himself. "He can't. He should've done it differently."

"Okay, yes. It's true that he failed you." Tim swallowed. Dick was staring fiercely into his eyes. "But he didn't mean to."

He swallowed again and a tear slid down his cheek.

Dick cradled his face in his hands, rubbing the tear away with his thumb. "You know that in your heart, Tim. I know you do."

He wanted to crawl inside himself, or at least back under the covers, but he let himself be pulled close again. It was useless to pretend he didn't crave it. Still, he couldn't let go of the tension knotting his shoulders. What Dick was asking… "I'm not going back," he said.

"Okay," Dick answered, even as Tim persisted, "I don't have anything to go back to."

Dick nodded, adding softly, "I'm not arguing that."

"Okay," Tim answered, taking a deep breath. Letting Dick's determined stare convince him…of something. "Okay," he said again, his voice stronger.

"So…" Dick said, a brighter light dancing in his eyes. "Alfred swore up and down that he left you makings for a couple of omelets, and I _know_ you have coffee." He grinned and Tim managed to smile back. "Today I want to do something we've never done before."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "What do you have in mind?"

"Blüdhaven by daylight."

Tim's eyebrows shot up still higher.

Dick was laughing, shifting into a lengthy stretch beside him. "There _is_ more to this town than crooked cops and mobsters, you know. It's not such a bad place to be once you know your way around."

"Okay…" Tim trailed off. This whole visit was so very surreal. He'd never even seen most of Blüdhaven in the day; he knew it by night and by rooftop, by precinct and borough. Daylight was something that happened on weekends at the Tower, or when Alfred opened all the shutters in his weekly crusade to expunge the darkness—against Tim's protestations that he liked it that way.

"Um…" Dick sat up and chewed his lip for a second as Tim watched, repressing a new urge to reach out and touch it. "One more thing, and then I promise I'll go cook us breakfast."

"Hm?"

"I didn't mean to be such a jerk with waking you up and everything. I'm sorry. I just…I care about you, no matter what, you know that." Dick stopped and his hands waved between them a little helplessly. "I just want you to get through this is all. I'm sorry if I sounded like a selfish prick."

Tim stared back at him, a little bemused. He'd half-expected Dick to pretend those words had never been spoken. Or at least try to take it all back. But he wasn't taking it back...

Dick stood up, hand moving to ruffle Tim's hair as if by reflex. With a self-conscious laugh, Dick's wiggling fingers slowed to a caress, and then shifted to a warm clasp of the side of his head. Tim didn't look away. Dick blushed and said, "Coffee?"

Tim smirked up at him. "You brew. I'll get dressed."

Dick grinned. "You do that."

**Author's Note:**

> From "Merlin and the Gleam"
> 
> Clouds and darkness  
> Closed upon Camelot;  
> Arthur had vanish'd  
> I knew not whither,  
> The king who loved me,  
> And cannot die;  
> For out of the darkness  
> Silent and slowly  
>           The Gleam, that had waned to a wintry glimmer  
> On icy fallow  
> And faded forest,  
> Drew to the valley  
> Named of the shadow,  
> And slowly brightening  
> Out of the glimmer,  
>           And slowly moving again to a melody  
> Yearningly tender,  
> Fell on the shadow.  
> No longer a shadow,  
> But clothed with the Gleam.
> 
>                     ~Alfred, Lord Tennyson

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Wintry Glimmer [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/394398) by [tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic)




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